


Downtime

by Threshette



Category: Lancer (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, Technophile 3, au where nhp kissing is ethical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshette/pseuds/Threshette
Summary: Sunila drops by the hangar bay to take care of the best co-pilot ever. Written as a Valentine's Day request from Techhead.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Robot Kissing - Relationship
Kudos: 16





	Downtime

It always surprised her just how hard it was to break into a place you were meant to be.

A little less than four hours earlier, it wouldn't even have counted as a breakin; the most she would've copped would be shit from her teammates for getting all mushy over a more-or-less replaceable mech. But check in on your pride and joy at midnight and suddenly it became insubordinacy. The inconsistency grated on Sunila, which entirely justified anything rash she did to defy it.

With the tech on duty out of the way thanks to a paycheck advance, all it took to get inside the repair bay was a simple swipe of her ID. Moments later, she was alone amongst the half-assembled shells of her unit's mechs, each mostly identical save for a few exceptions: a strangely shaped loop antenna here, a pair of jutting micromanipulators there...

She snuck past the rank and file of the repair bay's patients for what felt like an age, before finally coming upon her old faithful. The EVEREST had been practically disembowelled by the swarm of Union engineers, leaving the skeleton of the thing bare and gleaming beneath a fragmentary shell of metal plating.

Sunila approached it with what could be confused for caution, waving a hand at it before just smacking the flat of her hand against its flank. A moment later, one of the external cameras whirred to life with a faint beep. "I see you in there, come on."

With the speakers only barely in working order, her FOUCAULT-class NHP sounded like she was speaking underwater when she replied. [You bought it?]

"Not just," Sunila sing-songed, gesturing to the satchel at her hip. "Bought snacks and everything. Girls' night in, just like last time."

The camera seemed to crane down to peer at her cargo despite not actually being mounted on an arm. [After your stunt with the reactor shunts, I hope you've picked something good.]

"Oh, yeah, a real classic." Sunila couldn't stop the grin from finding its way to her face as the entrance aperture irised open. "Four hours! You better believe it's gonna be a good time..."

* * *

'It' was _Age of the Seventh Starfighter_ , the eighth part of Selkie Yao's _Starfighter_ triskaidecilogy. A monstrous epic of micrograv wirework and gratuitous amputation made on a five-figure budget, the director's cut featured so many difficult-to-compress fountains of hyperrealistic blood that it took up eight whole tapes. That, in turn, meant Sunila to grudgingly get up from her rat's nest of blankets and snacks and manually switch the damn things out every so often.

A thought occured to her as she swapped the fourth tape out for the seventh, crunching absently on the strip of seaweed stuck in her mouth. "Last time we did this, you weren't in the shop. What's it feel like for you?- getting fixed up, I mean."

FOUCAULT hummed, the sound ringing with harmonies no human throat could've produced. [It is... I lack the idioms. It is as if someone is scratching an itch.]

"Huh. So, like, if I started welding some of those plates back together--" Sunila gingerly traced the jagged gashes in the cockpit's roof. A mech-scale machete from the last deployment had nearly cut clean through it and cleaved her cranium open; her savior had been an extra six inches of honeycomb that Avery had only insisted on installing the week prior. "--it'd be kinda like rubbing your back?"

[Something analogous.]

"Any clue why that is?"

[I suspect it is user interface, like it is for humans. If your chassis is damaged, my casket could easily be compromised. Therefore I require some way of monitoring structural integrity.]

Sunila mulled that over in her mind as she continued shoving seaweed into her mouth, mind only half-focussed on the film. Somehow Selkie had gotten herself into a knife fight, her overalls slashed off at the calves by another bounty hunter; now she was trying to garotte the unfortunate responsible with the discarded fabric.

Before she could speak again, FOUCAULT let out a wistful sigh. [She looks so good in shorts, Pilot.]

For a moment, the movie was the only sound in the cockpit.

[God, I'm gay.]

Sunila choked.

* * *

The rest of the movie passed in a flurry of increasingly ridiculous duels and brief fits of conversation, neither of them anxious to interrupt the movie and the comfortable silence it let them share. As the credits faded in, Sunila stretched out in her seat with a grunt, sighing as she worked the stiffness from her muscles.

FOUCAULT's indicator was blinking, the soft, red pulse she associated with her NHP going inactive. One of the techs had called it 'snoring' as a joke, but watching it made her feel like she was actually watching someone sleep. That sensation of quiet intimacy made her pause as she moved to dismount, tempted her to watch it for just a moment more.

She swayed for a moment, but shook her head and keyed the iris open. There'd be time for sentimentality when she was in her quarters, not at risk of getting chewed out by her CO for doing something this silly.

Behind her, the lights on the casket switched from red to blue.

[Pilot?]

Sunila paused, head already halfway into the exit aperture. "Yeah?"

[Are you leaving?]

"Look, I- it's not your fault, it's just-" Sunila felt her face burn in the dark, sudden guilt spiking through her chest as she spoke. "It's just that Liam's going to kill me if he catches me in here when they're working on you, you know?"

She could see the light's reflection in the metal of the exit's walls. [Okay.]

Goddammit.

"You're making it sound like it's not okay."

[I should not worry you with this.]

Sunila sighed and clambered back down to slump in her seat, the now-empty seaweed cartons crunching as she did. "C'mon, Michelle, it's fine. Talk to me, buddy."

The light blinked a few more times before FOUCAULT spoke up again. [Do you think they'll do anything to me?]

"No, of course not. Why would--" Sunila's rambling trailed off as the implications began to sink in. "--Look, you didn't get beat up that badly. You've lived through worse, big girl, you'll be fine."

[And if I'm not?]

"Then I promise I won't let them do anything to you. Promise."

Those words sounded more and more hollow as she watched the light blink impassively. Guilt chewed at her exhaustion-frazzled brain for a few more silent moments, before she groaned and relented. "You're impossible, you know that? Fine, I'll stay."

Rolling her eyes, she settled into the seat once more, wrapping the blanket around herself tighter as she prepared to spend the night in the half-dismantled EVEREST.

[No goodnight kiss?]

Sunila's eyes snapped open and she twisted to face the casket. "I- you don't even have lips, what would that even...?"

[Humans signify promises with tokens. This is the one I would like.] If FOUCAULT's arms weren't currently lying on a trolley ready for disassembly, she probably would have been crossing them.

For a brief moment, Sunila considered just leaving the cockpit; then the thought of this coming back to bite her in the ass next deployment occured to her, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Trying to push down just how stupid she felt doing this, she leaned over and pressed her lips briefly against the top of the casket.

"N-Night," she muttered, ears burning with embarrassment.

The light had gone red again. Typical.

Grumbling to herself about just how ungrateful these new models were, Sunila turned over and closed her eyes. Within moments, she'd fallen asleep to the soft hum of the machine that enclosed her.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been 0 days since a debate about the ethics of making out with the math demons making your mech shoot good. Join the LANCER discord at http://discord.gg/lancer.


End file.
